Mother?
by Virodeil
Summary: *Caught Is Caught Is Cuddled Series* – A pair of mortal enemies are stranded in a cave after battle. And then one of them says, "Little one, I bore you. I can put you back in here, if you keep chattering." – Loki is certainly never prepared for that. Not even when it is being spoken, or afterwards, or long, long afterwards. – *AU of the end of the jötunheim scene in Thor 1*


Mother?  
By Rey

**A pair of enemies are stranded in a cave after battle. They hate each other and still try to kill each other. But then, a piece of truth comes out that makes them reconsider everything. After a long council and pondering, they come to fight for each other instead. The end.**

**Wel, it is a grand story, indeed.**

**Sadly, the reality is much, much more twisty, bizarre and surreal than the story. At least according to Loki. And the end? He can see none of it. All because … "Little one, I bore you. I can put you back in here, if you keep chattering."**

_(Set after the battle between the Asgardians and the jötnar in __**Thor**__.)_

Story tags: Internalised Racism, Internalised sexism, References to Childbirth, Fluff and Humor, Dialogue Heavy, Implied Sexual Content, Sleepy Cuddles, Author Is Sleep Deprived, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping

Author's notes: This story is my favourite of all my Loki stories thus far, I admit. It was inspired by one of the Loki stories on AO3, in which Loki flabbergastedly contemplated being birthed by a hulking male giant. (If you have ever read that story, or if you are the writer of that story, please tell me its title so that I can properly cite it.) I hope you will come to like it, as well. It is far lighter, maybe weirder, and more "up in the air" than the others, though. There is sort of a backstory/companion to this, in Laufy's POV, but I wasn't certain if any of you would like to read it, so I didn't write it. But tell me if you wouldn't mind reading it. Otherwise, it'll just stay in my mind forever, most likely.

For however many times it has been in these long, long candlemarks, Loki bitterly rues his brief loss of concentration when the Bifrost touched down amidst the battle Thor had sparked. A chunk of stone – or maybe ice – struck his head from _above_ before he could dodge; and, just so, he keeled over like a swooning maiden faced with a marriage proposal from her sweetheart.

_And_ he did not wake up in the healing wing of the palace – _Asgard's_ palace. Instead, he _somehow_ woke up in this primitive _ice_ cave, stiff all over and battered within an inch of his life. And all this time, he has not yet succeeded to move any part of his body even an inch to any direction.

Now that his mind is clearer than before, however…. `_Why haven't I frozen to death? I didn't move, I still can't move, and there's nothing beneath and around me but ice. Wherever in the universe am I, anyway? Surely Laufey's prison is not this… cave-like? Are they truly that beastly?_`

His eyes roam the ceiling of the cave, the only place he can look at, for the umpteenth time. Once more, he notes all the ice-layered stalagtites that glimmer subtly in shades of blue. `_Or are those indeed ice crystals? They look rather beautiful…. But how can I see? Where is the source of light? Is there more than one opening to this cave? How did I move from the battlefield to this place? If I didn't move myself, who moved me, then? Surely the frost giants…._`

His eyes widen. His heart thumps extra fast. Chill suffuses his marrows like it never did before this.

`_Did the frost giants spare me so that they can eat me?_` – It is a childish tale to frighten recalcitrant young children and spur older lads to attend their weapon training better. But, with how it has been embedded deep in a place where all things seem to be truths….

`_I must go, __**now**__._`

And so, with all his might, the beleaguered second prince of Asgard attempts to move again, to get up, to find a way out, to flee and recover himself elsewhere – _anywhere else_. It is not an act of cowardice, surely, to flee _for a time_ from those who would like to eat you, so that you can devise a way to kill them?

Unfortunately, after quite a while huffing and puffing, he only manages to turn to his side. His store of energy runs out just so, and he is left reclining sidewise on the smooth bit of ice that has been his bed.

The new vantage point affords him a literal look to a new side of his problem, still.

Namely, the huge, blue, silver-marked lump stretched out across the apparently narrow cave, _all too close to him_.

He is not alone.

He _has not been alone_ since however that long time ago, apparently.

`_Is it a jötun? Where are its eyes? Where are its hands? People and the books say the jötnar have sharp claws! Is it dead? Who is it? Why is it here? Why has it not done anything bad to me? What is it doing now? Is it waiting for me to move to turn round and eat me? But I did move! So why has it not moved yet? What is it waiting for? Is it asleep? Can I flee before it catches me? Where is the exit, now? I need to go! Why has Father not sent any assistance here? Or is the rescue team waiting outside?_`

Panic lends Loki new energy. Fear propels him onward despite all the exhaustion and pain. – Laboriously, he braces his upper body on his elbow and shoulder, then drags himself to a half seated position.

Unfortunately, he misjudges the amount of energy that he needs to drag himself to his hands and knees.

_Too much_.

His head strikes the blue lump, just as he falls sprawling again on the suspiciously level floor, unbalanced by the uncoordinated self-propelling shove. `_Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn._` He wriggles, trying to move away, using the scraps of energy remaining from the earlier motion.

_Too late_.

The blue lump, previously as unmoving as the cave wall behind it, unfolds a little, _just to snatch him up into its arms_.

"let me go!" he wants to say, to demand. But what comes out is instead a strangled, high-pitched scream.

A _squeak_. Like what comes out of any of the giggly maidens when Thor sweeps her up into his arms.

_Humiliating_.

And to say that the situation is alarming would be the greatest understatement after Thor was _so generously_ considered fit to be king.

This is the very first time in his life that he is so close – _too close_ – to a frost giant.

A _frost giant_. One among the so-called _man-eating_ savages.

This frost giant is pretty skinny, as well, despite its lean muscles. It may be _hungry_, then.

Maybe even _terribly hungry_.

And _he cannot escape its grasp_.

"Let me go!" he manages to get out at last, although his voice is still unpleasantly several octaves too high.

"Go away!" The words are quite childish, and he cringes internally saying those, but they are the only words that his frazzled mind can think of right now.

"I am poisonous!" – `_Eh, why did I say it?_` But maybe, the clingy frost giant will not eat him, by that claim.

All that he gets as the answer is a tired huff, however. The skinny arms that cage him still prevent his escape, but they do not tighten any further.

And there is no other sound around, except for his heavy breaths and – now that he listens closely – the very, very faint exhales of his captor.

Asgardians are _never_ silent, mostly, except by necessity or by force. But now _there is no sound_. So does it mean the rescue team is not waiting outside? Or are all of his rescuers dead?

The huge expanse of thin chest that is pressed against his face barely raises and falls. It stutters, even, sometimes. And, this close, Loki can _feel_ the giant's ribs. So does it mean the jötun is on the cusp of death? But if so, why waste its energy to… _hug_ him, _an enemy_, with no apparent reason?

Except, if it wishes for a tangible company in the moment of its death…. But that would assign too much credit to the jötnar's sentience – and even _intelligence_, in retrieving him from the battlefield, keeping him here for that purpose, and, just now, capturing him before he can flee.

_But_ he can think of nothing else that would explain this clinginess of a monstrous eneemy.

Not that he would ever consent to being in this particular position for _any_ reason.

The prospect of helping to send a jötun to its _peaceful_, natural death is very, very unnerving, in fact, and _all too intimate_.

So he renews his struggles, now trying to bite and claw at his _currently living_ cage.

But, like a vexed mother faced with a whiny, recalcitrant child, like he witnessed several times on the streets of Gladsheim's common areas while in disguise, he gets _a swot on his bottom_ for all the troubles.

Loki, the second prince of Asgard, freezes in an instant, far too shocked for coherence and far too outraged for words.

And then, at last, an indignant shriek tears itself from his throat: "Unhand me, you beast! You have no right to… to–!" His face burns with chill, like a memory of warmth, and he feels even more mortifyingly embarrassed by this additional reaction.

The jötun's succinct, ominous answer, delivered mind to mind, freezes him for a different reason entirely.

`_I have._`

`_No, you do not!_` he persists, unnerved and even more incredulous than before.

`_I have,_` the frost giant repeats. Even their mental voice is tired. But it is clear, nonetheless. And, worse for the confused, horrified Asgardian prince, the short, frank declaration is firm _and irrefutable_.

`_What right?_ He demands, still, unable to hide his trepidation. – It is so, so hard to obfuscate, misdirect or omit feelings, emotions, thoughts and truths in a mind-to-mind communication.

It is why, on his captor's next proclamation, curtly but bluntly truthful all the same, his mind blanks out entirely.

`_I birthed you._`

A _frost giant_. Sounding defiantly _male_. _Birthing_ him. An _ás_.

`_But… you are…._`

`_A 'jötun'?_`

`_Well, yess, but, you __**are**__–!_`

`_Detangle your thoughts first, my child, then speak, if you must speak. You are not a fool, I hear._`

`_That is the problem!_`

`_What? Are you in truth a fool? You did not seem so, before and after I birthed you. You knew where to find sustenance, at least._`

`_Gah! I'm not – But that's not–! You are–!_`

`_Hush, Loé, if Loé have nothing else to say. Let Amma sleep for a while yet._`

`_I'm not Loé! And you can't make me! Let me go!_`

`_Little one, I bore you. I can put you back in here, if you keep chattering. So hush now. Amma needs more rest, Loé._`

`_What? You will eat me?!_`

`_Not there, silly. Amma's womb. Where does Loé think Loé came out of?_`

`_But… but… but…!_`

`_Hush, now. Amma knows Loé needs to recover as well. Amma didn't manage to shield Loé in time from the first flurry of the hale. We stood rather far apart and the hale came as quite a surprise._`

`_Who are you?_` A safer, _slightly_ mor digestable topic, Loki hopes. And, in the meantime, he tries to ignore how the jötun is using his inaction to _cuddle_ him.

But the answer…, `_Loé's amma._`

`_Other than that?_` he persists, despite his mounting horror. – The chunk of ice, it was apparently the precursor of a hale. And, despite the frost giant's claim, at that time he was positioned rather close to….

`_Dam of a pair of twins, with one apparently still alive despite the signs at that time and a chatterbox at that. Sire of two elder children each a __**kraði**__ apart. Spouse of a mad traitor with twistedly good intentions. Laufey Bergelmir-childe. Monarch of Ýmirheim. – Now, Loé, __**hush**__._`

_Laufey_. _King_ Laufey. His _mother_?! That huge, _male_ giant seated on that throne of ice, speaking _wise words_ to Thor, however mockingly, and being – _rightfully_ – suspicious of Loki himself….

`_I'm not–! You can't b–!_`

`_What? Your dam? Child, I painfully __**felt**__ you squeezing out from between my legs. There was no birthing pool to make it easier, at that. I cannot imagine how it would have felt if you and your sibling had been born to term. I never thought I would have been __**grateful**__, however partially, to __**that Asgardian pig**__ who bashd my belly with his mace._`

In the thorough cocoon of the jötun's – _Laufey's_! – arms, Loki cringes. `_Too much information!_`

`_You wanted it, little brat. Now __**hush**__. Or do you want me to describe to you how you were begotten, as well?_` comes the quick, increasingly… _grumpy_… rebuttal.

A mental wail of horror is Loki's spontaneous response to that…

…Eliciting a _humorous_ chuckle from his… _the frost giant_.

He shuts up, indeed, after that, for quite some time – at least in his reckoning.

Then, quietly, as quietly as a mental voice could sound, he ventures out, `_You were quite powerful, I hear. Why would you weaken yourself and sully your name with carrying… me?_` – He had better _not_ think about the piece of information that is attached to that particular topic, now _or ever_.

`_Why would you trail after that stupid little half-pig,_` is the retort, the grumpiest so far. `_And what is this nonsense about sullying my name by being withchild?_`

Electricity runs up and down Loki's spine, it feels. `_He knows!_` he shrieks to himself, barely remembering to shield that thought from his captor. `_But why didn't he act on it? Why did he claim me for himself and insist on it, even now?_`

`_Thor has no relation to my questions,_` he returns. `_I asked you first, besides._`

`_You were much more polite before. Like a timid mouse, in fact,_` Laufey observes instead, with a hint of the more familiar scorn entering his mental voice. `_And I was __**clarifying**__, so my own questions have bearing in this case._`

Loki's heart sinks, despite his mind's firm denial of… well, _everything_, really. `_I am a disappointment, even to a monster,_` he thinks to himself.

A sigh of bone-deep exhaustion travels through their link from the other end. Only then does Loki realise he has sagged completely into _Laufey's arms_, and the jötun _cuddles him snugger without a word_.

His hart skips a beat, from the general direction of his belly. `_Disappointments do not get to be held close, do they?_` he thinks to himself, and an odd fluttering sensation fills his chest, in lieu of his heartbeats.

And then, `_I suspect that the reason why you kept trailing after that brat is similar to why I decided to carry a pair of brats of my own in my belly during wartime, child,_ comes an unlooked-for explanation, delivered in the same quiet tone of Loki's original questions. `_And despite some exceptions for the royal family, the heirs that will be accepted with littlest fuss are still those who come from the monarch's womb, just like the norm for any other person everywhere else here. So I was in fact bettering my name, not sullying it. I just got two mor benefits for the same action, although they have been reduced to one, by now._`

`_Benefits?_`

A very, very put-upon sigh, even more tired than before, answers him, followed by, `_**Benefits**__, Loé. And, before you ask, they were in the shape of __**my own**__ pair of brats. But do not ask me about your sibling, or I will not be responsible about what I do to you to escape answering that. – Ýmir! I should have named you for a bird instead! – Now, if you are quite finished? If not, I shall tell you about when and how you were begotten, although I will skip the 'why'._`

`_But…._`

`_…It was on the verge of the war – the civil war here, before Asgard put its nose in. Farbauti wanted to distract me from their plotting, most likely, although they might have other reasons. They pounced on me on my lone way to dinner, carried me to the nest we shared with their womb-children who are also my kin-children, nuzzled me, untied my girdle, and then put their hand in my–._`

Loki lets out a _squeal_, his most horrified to date, physically as well as mentally, cutting off the _horrible, horrible_ recounting that he can live without _forever and ever_.

Now, at long last, however reluctantly he would admit the relation, and however unorthodox the confirmation has come about, he has no more doubt that he is related to this… this… _git_.

End note: Now, who wants to see a PWP between Laufey and Farbauti as hinted in the latter's cut-off grumpy narration? (Eh, I guess my mind works in strange ways when I am being grumpy, myself… :P)


End file.
